


Father-Son Bonding: Two-Decade Roadtrip Edition

by TheTriggeredHappy



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: AU where Spy brings baby Scout with him on the run. thats it thats the AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Gen, dad!spy, we've got the dadspy we've got the kid jeremy we've got the family dynamics we've got the drama, will be shuffled around and edited on occasion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:34:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 21,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29477775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTriggeredHappy/pseuds/TheTriggeredHappy
Summary: [["Anonymous asked: DadSpy AU prompt: A terrified Spy holding his son "I'm here, mon lapin, papa is right here"."]]
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Scout & Spy (Team Fortress 2), Scout/Sniper (Team Fortress 2)
Kudos: 52





	1. Crash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [["Anonymous asked: DadSpy AU prompt: A terrified Spy holding his son "I'm here, mon lapin, papa is right here"."]]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (warnings for description of a crashed car, injury, and unnamed character death)

He pulls the wailing three-year-old from the back seat of the car, thankful beyond words that the collision had been on the other side of it. He cradles him close the moment he’s free of the restraint of the mangled seatbelt, shushing him and rocking him gently despite severely trembling hands, trying to subtly check him over for injury, and feels ready to collapse on the spot with relief when he finds nothing. “Shh, shh, it’s alright,” he manages to choke out, kissing at the top of his head and breathing unsteadily and ignoring the fact that his shirt was probably beyond saving with the combination of bloodstains and tearing. “I’m here, _mon lapin_ , Papa is right here. It’s alright.”

He stands up straight on shaking legs, swallowing hard to dislodge the lump in his throat, looking around a bit aimlessly. The car was totaled, his own probably not even fit to get him back to the motel. Maybe it was worth a shot anyways.

“Don’t look,” he hurries to say, pulling the baby’s head in against his neck and shoulder before he could glimpse the dead or dying man in the driver’s seat, cradling him even closer. “Don’t look. We’re going to be alright, _oui?_ We are two intelligent individuals, I’m sure we can work this out. We’re going to be alright. I promise.”

“Papa,” Jeremy practically whimpers, visibly overwhelmed, tiny fists curled in his jacket, still wracked with terrified sobbing.

“I know,” he manages, his own eyes starting to water. “I know.”

He manages to make it back to his own car without limping too severely, murmuring gentle assurances in a few languages, hoping that his tone would get through even if the words didn’t. He gently sets Jeremy in the passenger seat, buckling him in as best he could. The little boy clutched onto the seatbelt, looking up at him with wide, tearful eyes.

He bends in to give him a gentle kiss on either temple before he settles in himself, trying his best to get the car started.

“It’s alright,” he assures once more, reaching over to take him by the hand for a moment. “We’re going to be alright.” And maybe the assurance is just as much for himself as it is for Jeremy, but he can’t allow himself to think about that. Not right now.


	2. Cocoa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [["Anonymous asked: This dadspy au is really making me feel things here, this is incredible, thank you for doing this!!! I wanted to ask for maybe a small scene in which teen or little jeremy had to console his papa/dad (depending on his age) if he ever catches him looking sad."]]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (no warnings)

Papa had his head in his hands, there at their little table.

Jeremy, for one, thought that it was a pretty great day overall. They were staying in a little house instead of a hotel, for one—they didn’t do that a lot, not unless they were staying somewhere for _ages_ , maybe even weeks. And he hadn’t gotten to go out with Papa for the groceries when they’d gotten there the previous night, but when he got back he’d picked up some stuff to make a real, actual sit-down dinner, and they ate it and they watched a movie and he had a whole room all to himself.

But by the time Jeremy got up the next morning, Papa already looked a little upset. He said he just had a bad phone call, and apologized for the sour face, and made them a whole sit-down breakfast and headed into the little office room and shut the door so he could work.

And Jeremy spent most of the day in the kitchen drawing, and Papa came out again a little bit later and made them both a little lunch and thanked him for being so quiet and patient, and then went back to work again.

He got bored a little later and knocked on the door and asked to play outside, and Papa said it was okay as long as he only played in the back yard, and he poked at bugs and dug little holes and practiced letters in the dirt until it started to get dark and Papa asked him to come back inside, and then they ate the leftovers and then usually Papa sat down in the big chair by the window and looked out of it and smoked and listened to the radio, but today he just kept sitting at the little table, staring down at his plate for a long time before eventually pushing it forward out of his way and putting his head in his hands.

He decided to help out and pulled a stool over so he could reach high enough to put their dishes in the sink, and filled it up some of the way with water like he usually saw on TV. It didn’t look quite right, so he also had to scrub soap between his hands so there were bubbles in it, and then he wasn’t really sure what else he was supposed to do so he just left them there like that to figure it out a little later.

He peeked back out into the little eating area. Papa still had his head in his hands.

He went back in the kitchen, thinking hard. Papa wasn’t usually sad like this, and he really didn’t like it. Whenever Jeremy was sad, Papa would usually give him a big hug and then pick him up and spin him around a bunch until he forgot what he was sad about. And if it was because of a hurt spot, he would kiss it better and give him a band-aid and a pat on the head and he would feel better.

But he didn’t have a hurt spot and Jeremy didn’t think he was big enough to spin Papa around, so he’d need to think of something else.

He pulled the stool over to the cabinet as quiet as he could, climbing up and standing on the counter to look at the shelves. This one had cups and plates, and then up above that were bowls and mugs. He had to stand all the way up on his toes to reach, but he managed to get a mug safely back down to the counter.

Back across the kitchen again to the other cabinet and up on his toes to see what was on the way up high shelf. There was a little tin there that he recognized and managed to pull down, as well as a big bottle of chocolate syrup and some chocolate bars and some shakers that he didn’t really know what was in them but Papa always used them so he’d figure it out.

He didn’t exactly know how to use the kettle, so he just pulled the stool up to the sink and ran the water and tried to wait until it got really hot.

The problem was that he couldn’t see in the sink super well and he got a little distracted waiting and went to go try to figure out what was in the little shakers, and then he heard a dripping noise and he turned around and the sink was overflowing so he had to run back and climb up and turn it off again.

Aw, sheesh.

He went into the bathroom and grabbed an armful of towels, dropping them on the ground in front of the sink and very carefully running the hot water just long enough to fill the mug with it.

Okay. Got it.

He went back to the tin with the mug and stood on his toes to get a spoon from the drawer, only to be left vaguely confused and perplexed at the fact that there were two different spoons of different sizes.

Which was the one Papa usually used, again?

Oh, well. He was a little kid, and Papa was bigger than him. He’d use a big spoon.

He took a scoop (and a little more for good measure) from the tin and plopped it into the mug, only missing some of it, then plopped in a healthy dollop of chocolate syrup and a chocolate bar for good measure. He figured that one of the shakers was cinnamon, and so shook that into the mug for a little bit, and did the same with the sugar, and only just barely remembered that sometimes Papa used honey too, and stirred it a few times to mix it all in.

It smelled _great!_ He’d totally _nailed_ this!!

He carefully (carefully!) took the mug down from the counter and brought it out to the table, mindful not to spill his concoction. Papa looked up when the mug clunked onto the table next to his elbow, brows all furrowed together.

“ _Mon lapin_ , what is this?” he asked, voice a mumble.

“Um,” Jeremy said, rocking on his heels a little nervously, “I thought you seemed like you were sad, and every time I’m really sad you um, make me hot cocoa, and it makes me feel better, so I thought I’d make it for you now,” he shrugged.

Papa blinked, looked at him for a few seconds, then at the mug. “Did you, now?” he asked, seeming a little confused. He picked the mug up tentatively, looked into it, back at Jeremy again. “…This is very thoughtful and sweet of you to do.”

“Um,” Jeremy said, looking down at his toes, voice trailing quieter and quieter, “it’s not a big deal or whatever I just love you and stuff is all.”

Papa was silent for a long moment, and when he looked up, he had a little smile on, and his eyes were wet. Before he knew it he was being pulled up into a big hug, which he was quick to return. “What am I ever going to do with you, _ma puce?”_ he sighed, sounding exasperated but proud. “You are far too sweet for your own good.”

Then he was being put back down, and Papa picked up the mug, looking at it again. He took a tentative sip.

And froze up, and lowered the mug, and gingerly cleared his throat.

“Ah, I see you’re… a fan of the cinnamon,” he said, smile crooked, movements stiff.

“Yeah!” Jeremy agreed, watching as he took the smallest of sips, and made an odd noise, blinking strangely.

“And it is very sweet. And very rich. Have you… used honey _and_ sugar? _And_ the syrup, and…”

He took another sip, brows furrowing just before he pulled away, and he looked down into the mug.

“…An entire candy bar?”

“Yeah!” he nodded cheerfully. “Great, right?”

“Yes, yes, _oui_ , of course,” Papa agreed quickly, and flashed a tight grin at him and gulped down more to demonstrate, and his free hand curled tight around the spoon and his face scrunched up a little. “Wonderful job. Excellent. Perhaps you would enjoy some hot chocolate as well? Why don’t you go get just about ready to go to sleep and I will make you a cup as well?”

“Okay!” he agreed cheerfully, running off to do as requested.

Once in the kitchen, his Papa poured half of his own mug into a different one, diluting both with hot water until they were a more reasonable level of sweet, and quietly cleaned up the mess his son left behind in the kitchen, taking note to teach him how to wipe down a counter at some point in the future. But silently repairing Jeremy’s mess was a much more preferable form of espionage than the one he spent the rest of his time on—just enough to keep him going, those days.

He had no idea what he’d do without Jeremy. Really, he didn’t.

(Even if he had no idea how much cinnamon should go in a drink.)


	3. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [["Anonymous asked: May I request young Jeremy having nightmares about Spy getting killed, or nightmares about being alone. How do they manage through them?"]]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (no warnings)

Another day, another nightmare.

Jacques sighed as quietly as he can, looking down at the sniffling little boy in his arms. He’d only just gotten him to stop crying after nearly an hour of effort, and he would need to leave to go meet with an informant in half an hour. He was barely dressed, and hadn’t had any coffee, and frankly, he was exhausted already.

“Jeremy,” he asked quietly, and earned a wide, shiny pair of baby-blue eyes. “Can I ask what the nightmare was?”

Jeremy looked back away. Whatever it was, it had been enough to rouse him from sleep and make him crawl into bed and wake up his father three times in four days. He suspected it had something to do with the uptick in frequency with which he’d been showing back up at their hotel rooms bruised or bloodied in some way, but he couldn’t be sure—he also knew that Jeremy had been getting bolder with what sort of comic books or television channels he looked at despite Jacques’ warnings that he was perhaps just a bit too young for them. Maybe he’d just watched a scary movie while he was gone.

The question was, would the expression on his son’s face turn out to be one of guilt, or of distress?

“Um,” Jeremy said, voice very quiet, very small, a little raw from his earlier crying. “I had a bad dream.”

“Yes, that much I already know,” Jacques nodded, making sure to also keep his tone quiet, to allow his voice an amount of steady certainty that generally brought his son comfort. “Would you tell me what happened in the dream, _mon lapin?_ Maybe if you talk about it, it will stop.”

His eyes went further downcast, confirming that indeed, this was a recurring problem. “Um,” he said. “I, woke up in the dream, and we got dressed and ate breakfast, and, you went to work, and, said you would be back, and, I waited, and I waited, and…”

He trailed off. Jacques gave him a few moments before gently rocking him, just in case his brain had drifted off track the way it often tended to. “And then what?”

“And you didn’t come back,” he said, very quietly, and Jacques felt his heart break a little.

He was quiet for a long few moments. “Is this something you worry about often?” he asked gently.

A long pause. “…Sometimes,” he admitted under his breath.

“Sometimes?” he prompted.

“When you’re gone all day,” he mumbled. “And don’t come back for lunch. Sometimes I get worried that you’re not ever gonna come back.”

“Not ever?” Jacques asked, pressing some surprise into his voice. “That would be a very long time.”

“It feels like a long time,” Jeremy murmured, squishing in closer to his chest.

He hummed, and took a minute to think. “Well, it is still very important that I go to work,” he said, and checked his watch, “which I will need to do shortly, in fact—“

Jeremy made a little noise of protest. He squeezed him for a moment.

“ _However_ ,” he continued. “I do think I have a solution.”

He gently moved Jeremy into a different hold so he could stand, carrying him over to the table where he’d set his suitcase and starting to dig one-handed through one of the pockets.

He pulled out the item he needed, hefting Jeremy to stand on the little chair and taking his arm. He fiddled for a long moment to adjust things as needed, then held his hands out in a ‘ta-da’ sort of motion. “There,” he said, smiling as Jeremy started inspecting the watch with interest.

“What’s it for?” Jeremy asked, eyes lighting up, and Jacques was once again left bemused at how quickly his son got distracted.

“It’s to tell the time,” he said, and lifted his own wrist up next to Jeremy’s, pointing at it. “See this? When both of the hands on the clock are pointing directly down, by that time, no matter what, I’ll _always_ be back here with you. And even then, if I need to leave again, I’ll tell you for _exactly_ how long. Understand?”

Jeremy nodded, and looked up at him with those big blue eyes of his. “Promise?” he asked, earnest.

“Promise. Cross my heart,” Jacques said, absolutely serious, and bent to give him a kiss on the head. “Now, for breakfast. I am meeting with a woman this morning to discuss some things, so we can’t go to a diner—“

“Aww,” Jeremy whined.

“—but I will be back shortly after. Do you want me to bring you breakfast as well, or just _chocolat chaud, mon lapin?”_

 _“Du chocolat chaud, s'il vous plaît!”_ Jeremy chirped, pronunciation very close to perfect, and it made Jacques smile all the more, giving him yet another kiss on the head.

_“Bien.”_

* * *

“Aw, shit.”

Spy glanced up, raising an eyebrow at him. Scout had stopped suddenly in his tracks halfway across the common room, and was frowning down at something in his hands.

“Damn watch broke,” he said, turning it over in his hands. Indeed, it seemed that the leather had snapped near the buckle. “Not again…”

“Again?” he asked, other eyebrow joining the first.

“Uh,” he said, and glanced up. “Yeah. Sorry. I’ve had to replace the strap like, three times.”

His eyebrows remained raised.

“Alright, look, first you give it to me when I’m like _five_ , and it’s already worn half to hell, and I gotta poke holes in the leather to tighten it enough to stay on, then I gotta replace it later anyways because the first replacement I got was way smaller because I was a kid and I need a bigger one to even fit it on my wrist—“

“Wait,” Spy said, frowning, moving over to look at it. “This is _that_ watch?”

“Yeah?” Scout said, glancing off. “…What? It’s a good watch.”

There was a brief pause before Spy reached up and ruffled up Scout’s hair, making him squawk in vague dismay. “It’s a good watch,” he agreed. “Would you like me to go get it fixed?”

“Nah, I’ll do it. It’s not hard,” Scout shrugged, looking back down at it. “Sucks, is all.”

“Indeed.”


	4. Boarding School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [["Anonymous asked: Concept: Spy thinks his current life is very dangerous for Jeremy, so he considers a boarding school in France for him to stay for a few months/a year. Little Jeremy is not having any of that and he will pull the strings of his father's heart to stay with him at all costs."]]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (no warnings)

Jeremy didn’t know who exactly Stanislas was or why he had a college in Paris, and especially didn’t know why his dad had a pamphlet from that college sitting on the table during dinner, but a brief glance inside led him to a series of conclusions.

His dad wanted to send him to boarding school.

His feelings upon this realization were anything but mixed. He processed first the idea of going to a boarding school—bluh—then being all the way in France— _bluh_ —and then being there all alone, without his dad around— _bluh!_ Even just on the surface, this sounded like a horrible, horrible idea, first of all because he hadn’t ever been to real school before but he heard it was the most boring thing in the world, second because he just didn’t think he’d be any good at it.

He laid there, staring up at the ceiling of the little house they were staying at, wide awake. He just couldn’t sleep, not when he had all this to think about.

All the way in France. He didn’t know much about his dad’s work, but he knew that for the most part, he did it in the United States, and sometimes in Europe, but mostly in the United States. Every time they went to France, his dad called it a vacation, and those times were few and far between. That meant that his dad would probably not get to come visit very much.

But no, another idea like a lightning bolt. He heard that boarding school was expensive. That might mean his dad couldn’t even _do_ vacations. If his dad wanted him to go to boarding school, he would need to work really really hard to pay for it.

Jeremy’s little hands curled in his blanket.

But maybe it wasn’t expensive, maybe he was getting sent there like he heard about kids’ older brothers being sent to military school. Maybe he’d done something wrong and was going there and was going to come back with his hair short and big shiny black boots and a stupid uniform and talking super weird and shouting for no reason. Or maybe he wasn’t even going to come back.

Maybe he wasn’t going to come back because what if dad got in trouble? What if something happened and nobody even told him until he was done with school and then he left and they said “also you don’t have a dad now” and then what would he do? Where would he go?

He ducked his head under the covers, throat feeling tight and eyes feeling itchy.

How would he even write letters like kids did when they went to summer camp? Sometimes dad said they were going somewhere but they changed at the last second where they were going, and even then they went different places all the time, how was he supposed to find where to send letters? What if they didn’t get there in time and dad was somewhere else and he never ever got the letters?

What if Jeremy got there and the other kids thought he was weird because he kept wanting to move? What if there weren’t diners there at the boarding school, and what if they didn’t let him have hot chocolate, and what if nobody spoke English so nobody liked his jokes? And what if all the other kids had their dads and maybe even moms too and then he was all alone because his dad was the only one who wasn’t there?

His eyes burned.

If he lived in France and was in school forever he wouldn’t have Papa to help him with untying his shoes when they knotted up really bad, or to make him really good soup when he was sick, or to open jars and bottles of soda when he wasn’t strong enough to do it, or to sing his little songs and make him feel better when he was scared.

Jeremy shoved himself free of the blanket, darting off as fast as he could to where he knew his dad was sleeping. _“Papa!”_ he cried, feeling the first tears starting to stream down his face.

When he sat up, flicking on the lamp on the nightstand, his dad looked shocked, worried. “ _Mon lapin_ , what is it? What is wrong? Why are you crying?” he asked, voice hushed, reaching down to hoist Jeremy up into bed to get a better look at him.

“Please don’t make me go to boarding school!” he pleaded, sobbing, latching onto his shirt and burying his face in it. “Please don’t make me! I don’t wanna go!”

_“Quoi?”_ his dad asked, sounding puzzled and taken aback.

“I don’t wanna wear a uniform and-and I don’t wanna write letters, and I, I don’t wanna be all the way far away and, and, and I wanna stay here and I wanna drink hot chocolate and I wanna eat soup and I don’t wanna have to cut all my hair off!” he choked between more sobs.

“ _Mon chou_ , I really don’t know what you’re talking about now,” his dad admitted, rubbing soothing circles into his back.

“I saw the paper on the table for the boarding school,” he managed, pulling back a little and wiping his eyes with his sleeve, still not quite able to pull himself together. “Please don’t make me go! I wanna stay here with you!”

A moment of pause before he watched his mouth drop open around a silent ‘oh’, first in realization than in sympathy. “Oh, Jeremy, no,” he assured, hands on his shoulders now. “ _Mon puce_ , please. I meant to talk to you about this at dinner and I forgot entirely about it. I wanted to ask you whether you would be alright if you spent a period of time in boarding school, I was not going to simply send you away!”

Jeremy sniffled.

“I understand that the way things are now, you do not get to have very many friends your age,” his dad continued, tone soft but serious. “And you are doing well in what I have been teaching you so far, but I do not want you to fall behind children your age. So I was considering placing you in the school for a few months, just to see whether it was something you like. But on the other hand, I know it would be difficult for you to see me very often, and besides that I feel most comfortable when I have you nearby me and know whether you are alright, and are eating enough, and getting enough sleep.”

Jeremy nodded, sniffling again.

“I had decided against sending you, for the most part,” he finally said. “But I did not want to deny you an opportunity that you might very much enjoy. So I was going to ask you if you had a particularly strong opinion on going. Based on this reaction, it seems as though you have quite the opposite.”

Jeremy nodded again with an emphatic little “yeah”, wiping at his eyes.

Papa lifted a hand to wipe them away as well, smiling at him tiredly. “Alright, then. We have settled that,” he finally said. “No boarding school.”

“No boarding school,” Jeremy agreed.

“Well, if I cannot convince you to live in France, can I at least convince you to sleep in your own bed?” he asked, eyes twinkling, and Jeremy nodded, and was quiet as he was tucked back in again.

“I love you,” he piped up before Papa stepped out of sight around the door, and earned another smile.

“I love you too, _mon chou_ ,” he replied, and turned out the light, and the pamphlet was gone the next morning, balled up in the trash can in the kitchen.


	5. Playground Squabble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [["Anonymous asked: I thank you so much for doing the father son bonding AU its the best ever. How about tiny Jeremy fighting another kid at the playground because the other kid made fun of Spy somehow? Jeremy feeling the need to kick the shit out the kid and defending his papa's honor."]]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (warnings for mention of blood and brief discussion of xenophobia)

“Can I ask whether this was worth it?” he hummed, gently swiping dried blood away from where it was congregating around the bottom of his chin.

Jeremy just sniffled, eyes cast down and to one side stubbornly.

He knew this was bound to happen eventually—kids got in skirmishes sometimes, especially kids who spent the majority of their time holed up in hotel rooms or on the road and didn’t get very many outlets for their frustration. At least he was present, just across a short stretch of grass from the monkey bars that Jeremy had been playing on, and had been able to run over to push apart the two boys that were fighting like wildcats in the mulch to the horror of a couple of onlooking children.

The ride to the motel was short, and cleaning up his bloody nose proved to be easy enough—he’d done it to himself enough times. The difficult part, as was becoming increasingly common, was getting Jeremy to talk.

“I don’t know if you could see the other boy very well,” he continued conversationally, “but it’s worth noting that if nothing else, you did get him far worse than he got you. I’m sure his parents must be very upset with you. It’s a good thing we were able to leave so quickly, _mon lapin_.”

Jeremy mumbled something.

“I beg your pardon?” he asked lightly.

“He deserved it,” Jeremy said, now loud enough to hear properly.

“Well, whatever he did, it must have been quite bad, then,” he shrugged, and tilted to look over Jeremy’s face, patted him gently on the cheek and rose to his feet. “You’ll be bruised for sure, but maybe less so if we can get ice on that.”

“He made fun of you,” Jeremy murmured under his breath.

Jacques raised an eyebrow over his shoulder as he started in on a makeshift cold pack. “Did he, now?” he asked. “Not often that I have my name sullied by an eight-year-old, but I suppose a playground _would_ be the place that it would happen.”

“He called you a bunch of names,” Jeremy said quietly. “Really bad ones.”

“Such as?” Jacques asked.

Jeremy said a string of syllables vile enough to make Jacques fumble the ice in his hands, looking back again with wide eyes. His mouth moved uselessly for a moment. Jeremy beat him to talking again. “I dunno what most of it means, and I dunno if he did either, but I know it’s really bad because he said it really quietly so his sister didn’t hear and tell on him,” he shrugged.

Jacques had to clear his throat. “Well. You’re right, that’s… very bad. It’s alright this time, but try not to ever use that sort of language again, alright?” he asked, trying to keep his voice level.

“Okay.” Jeremy was swinging his legs. “What’s it mean?”

Jacques chose his words carefully as he wrung out a towel. “In essence, he… was making a very derogatory joke about my not being from this country, and some swear words, and a jab at me potentially not following more common American social practices. All in an extremely rude and excessive way.”

“Oh… okay,” Jeremy said.

“If I had to guess, I’d say he most likely heard the phrase on the radio or from his parents,” Jacques said, brows furrowed now. “I’m sure he didn’t understand all the implications. Nonetheless, you’re correct, it was in fact… quite a lot. I’m sure I would also have been very upset had I heard him say such things.”

“Yeah. It’s okay though, I taught him,” Jeremy said much too casually, and he couldn’t help but worry at where exactly Jeremy was picking up that sort of mentality from.

“For now, at least,” he hesitantly agreed, moving back over and guiding Jeremy into holding the pack to his nose and eye. “Until a week from now when some other little boy with a different accent than him tries to use the playground. But maybe one day he’ll learn for himself why he shouldn’t speak that way about people.”

“Hope so,” Jeremy said. He was quiet for a few seconds, still looking off to one side. “Did I do good?”

He considered his answer for a few moments, wrestled between paternal pride and paternal concern. Chewed on his words. “I appreciate that you decided to look out for me when you heard that boy say rude things, _mon lapin_ ,” he decided on. “But if you would like to, next time you can simply tell me there’s a boy being rude and I can come over and give him a stern talking-to rather than you getting into a scuffle.”

“Maybe,” Jeremy surrendered, eyes firmly on the toes of his own shoes.

“Hold that there, if you don’t mind, and I’ll…” He hesitated, unsure if he had the energy to properly make them both food. “…Ugh. Phone for something to eat?”

A fist-pump from his son, and he rolled his eyes fondly, ruffling his hair as he moved past him to the phone.


	6. Precautions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [["atatfortatzelwurm asked: in the latest Dad!Spy fic, it seems like both of them have a degree of separation anxiety. largely *reasonable* separation anxiety because of the whole, y'know, Spy (and eventually Scout) being a mercenary thing, but it's still fascinating to see. i wonder how Spy would deal with easing Jeremy's anxiety and his own all the while knowing that he very well COULD be killed and leave his young son alone any time something goes wrong with work"]]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (warnings for discussion of canon-typical violence, none of it happening onscreen, and assorted mention of spy-type business)

Something about this felt so deeply… dishonest. Something he couldn’t quite place. Maybe some sense of irony, or… maybe just the sort of general guilt he’d had as a very young man starting to reverberate within him again. Whatever it was, sitting there and writing down the cipher of a message intended to ensure his son’s safety if he died, while that aforementioned son slept soundly against his shoulder, felt deeply morally wrong.

His eighth birthday was coming up. It was, according to Jeremy, a pretty big deal. And Jacques was aware that most children in more average situations would be having a party together, eating cake and playing games and having fun while he theoretically chatted with the other parents and talked about… school, or, extracurriculars. He wasn’t sure, to be honest, that was just his assumption. But Jeremy’s situation was anything but average, so he’d be making an attempt to do something else, something he’d enjoy enough that perhaps he would be able to put off the conversations of “why can’t I have normal friends?” for one more year. He’d heard about and marked down an annual fair, and found that this year the weekend it was taking place just so happened to also fall on Jeremy’s birthday.

It was a good excuse for why they were leaving town so swiftly. Much more justifiable to himself and more explainable to a very-nearly-eight-year-old than whispers on the wind of a pair of men he thought he’d killed twelve years previously being seen within the state and that alone being enough to make him very very nervous. He did not believe in coincidences, and moreover, he knew that him finding out about these men being alive was not an accident, it was a warning, and the only one he would be receiving before they struck to kill.

Regardless, he was still a bit troubled by it. And he knew it was an adjustment from the plans he’d been hesitantly laying for some time on where he would be and when, his route a closely guarded secret meant to be known to exactly three trustworthy people in entirely separate areas of the world, and even then it was a risk he would never have taken previously. But him going missing would be several degrees more significant, as he’d realized roughly eight years ago.

A movement to shift, trying to keep his arm from falling asleep, was enough to wake up Jeremy, who blinked a few times down at what Jacques was writing as if waiting for the letters to make sense. “Is that Russian?” he mumbled sleepily after two minutes of silence.

“No,” he said, having to pause in his writing entirely, broken from the rhythm he’d gotten into. “It’s a cipher. Secret symbols and letters.”

“Oh,” Jeremy said simply, and went silent and still for long enough that he convinced himself that he’d surely fallen back asleep, and he was a bit startled when he spoke again. “Who are you writing secret symbols at?”

“A friend of mine,” he answered carefully, if kindly. “You’ve met him. Twice, actually. A very large man, who also wore a suit. I believe you told him you really liked his tie.”

Peter was a good man, or as good as one could be given the circumstances the two of them both worked in. He had made a very genuine effort at, as Jacques had requested, ‘easing up’ on the usual intimidating way that he carried himself when he’d been been told Jeremy would be there at one of the very brief meetings the two of them had. One was when Jeremy was three, and fully preoccupied with a gift he’d received for the holidays, and the other was when Jeremy was six. Apparently, Peter had decided the best way to appear less intimidating to a young child was to wear a tie plastered with a pattern of cartoonish bubbles. Jacques thought it was perhaps the most ridiculous thing he’d ever seen, but was promptly proven wrong when Jeremy pointed it out gleefully within moments of being in a room with the man.

If Jacques died unexpectedly in most of the mainland United States and immediately surrounding territories, Peter would likely be the one taking care of Jeremy. At least until the other two correspondents could stop by and negotiate further on what would happen with him. Peter, at least, could cook and survive alone for multiple people (as he’d proven before on at least one occasion where Jacques was too injured to take care of himself and required assistance), and if he would stoop so low as to wear a bubble-patterned tie because he wanted to avoid intimidating a six-year-old, he was likely capable of stooping low enough to perform other essential activities involved with raising a child.

“I don’t remember that,” Jeremy muttered, shifting slightly.

“That is fair,” he nodded. “You do meet a lot of people, _mon lapin_ , it is not easy keeping names straight.”

He hummed in sleepy agreement. A pause. “That one looks like a dog,” he finally said, pointing at one of the little letters on the page.

He tilted his head, squinting a little. “Hm. I suppose it does,” he acquiesced.

“Does it mean dog?”

“It is not kanji, the characters represent letters, which spell words in German,” Jacques replied.

“Is it that letter that looks like a B but it isn’t and sounds like that one dog?”

“…Are you referring to an eszett?”

“Yeah.”

“…And what dog does it sound like, exactly?” Jacques asked, fully baffled.

“The one that howls really loud.”

“Howls really— _mon lapin_ , are you referring to a basset hound?”

“Yeah!” he agreed, sitting up a little and smiling. “That’s it!”

He wanted to further investigate why the word eszett reminded his son of basset hounds, but Jeremy picked that moment to yawn, reminding him of something.

“Well, dogs or otherwise, I do believe that it’s past your bedtime. You should go to sleep,” he said, no room in his tone for argument.

The whining noises began and were silenced by a swift kiss to the top of his head and the setting aside of the notebook he was working from, moving as if to pick up Jeremy and properly put him to bed. But then more genuine protests began, Jeremy moving to dart beneath the sheets before he could even properly set his pen down.

“Can I sleep here tonight?” he asked earnestly, employing the use of his big blue too-much-like-his-mother’s eyes. A slightly disapproving tilt of the head did nothing to dissuade him, so Jacques sighed inwardly, standing regardless.

“Alright, alright,” he surrendered as he moved to also get ready for sleep, “but I will be awake rather early in the morning, and you do not get to complain at me if you also end up awake as a result.”

Jeremy didn’t look upset by this caveat in the slightest, just burrowing further and smiling like he’d won some sort of contest.

And he looked asleep enough by the time Jacques was back that he was very quiet and careful about getting back into bed, but woke up regardless with the express intent of tucking against his arm again.

And he knew he would miss this one day. His son was already growing up much too fast, and at very-nearly-eight-years-old was closer in many ways to twelve, and surely only had another year or so before he would be much too embarrassed to lean against his father’s shoulder this way, to comment upon how things looked like an animal, to speak so freely. Soon he would be having secrets, a life of his own that he’d know nothing about, and he looked forward to it of course but he would also miss it so very dearly.

He’d hate to miss any more of it by dying unexpectedly.

He wished he didn’t need to prepare for the worst. He wished he didn’t feel guilty for needing to work out details about what would happen if the nightmare scenario occurred. And more than that, he wished he didn’t have to feel all the more guilty about having no plan at all for what he would do if something happened to Jeremy. It was unthinkable. He couldn’t imagine having a world without his son in it, not anymore.

And so he leaned back as well, albeit so much more carefully with the understanding of the fact that children tend to be fragile, and couldn’t imagine.


	7. Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [["Anonymous asked: you said age twelve little scout pointed (/shot?) a goon who broke into their hotel room, was he scared? was spy there too? did he get hurt?"]]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (warnings for canon-typical violence, guns, blood, severe injury, and use of tranquilizer. any of that makes you worry, this is gonna be bad for you.)

Jeremy hovered by the door to the bathroom, fidgeting with his hat restlessly. “Do you need me to help?” he asked quietly, trying really hard not to let his voice shake.

Dad looked up at him with a tight smile and a slowly-blackening eye, hands momentarily pausing where he was unwrapping a roll of gauze. “ _Non, mon lapin_ , I think I can do this one on my own, thank you,” he replied, voice a little stiff.

“You got shot,” he said carefully, gaze drifting briefly to the wound on his leg that had seeped through the gauze before snapping away again as his throat tightened at the sight of it.

“It’s only a leg wound, this won’t kill me,” Dad assured calmly, starting to wrap the wound in quick motions. “That sort of wound rarely does, although I will admit that I’m a bit shaken up by it, and most likely concussed. A very rude man decided to hit me in the head with a plank of wood today. That was by far a more concerning wound. You’ve packed your bag already?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, fidgeting with his hat again.

“Good,” his Dad nodded, starting to tie off the gauze, breathing carefully. “You can take that to the car if you would like, and then you can help me with my own, _oui?”_

“Okay,” Jeremy nodded, and put his hat on and dashed off to get his backpack, pulling it off and scooping up the keys from the table before dashing down the stairs and out to the car.

He dumped his bag in the back seat and glanced up at the door, wondering if he should just take Dad’s bag down on his own, and froze mid-thought.

He’d closed the door behind him, hadn’t he? He was sure he did.

He tugged the brim of his cap.

He was much quieter going back up the stairs, kept close to the wall and tried to peer in through the door.

He heard two voices. He felt his hands starting to shake.

“I’m afraid I must have forgotten my manners,” Dad said in a voice he didn’t hear very much. He sounded pretty calm, but Jeremy knew he had to be really, _really_ mad. “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced.”

“Well, personally I don’t think we’ve got much else to say,” the other voice said. It was a little deeper, and had a twang to it. “Here’s how this is going to work.”

“Or how you _think_ this is going to work,” his Dad said.

Jeremy peered carefully around the doorframe. He could see just the very back of someone much taller and broader than his dad. Just the shoulders were visible. He was stood in the doorway into the bathroom, in a tense posture, and based on the fact that he was still standing there, he was probably armed.

And Dad had nowhere to go. He didn’t have a weapon in the bathroom with him.

Oh god.

“I’d quit trying to be so damn smart if I were you,” the man said, and took another step into the bathroom, and Jeremy started creeping forward, sneakers silent on the motel carpet. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. You’re gonna tell me where the boy is, and both of you are gonna get in the car, and you’re gonna have a little chat with my current employer about what exactly you’ve been up to for the past week and a half.”

“What boy?” his Dad asked quizzically, and Jeremy crept forward just enough to get the guy back in his line of sight again. He had a hat on, and a lot of hair besides. Jeremy couldn’t see his face.

“Don’t play dumb with me. The boy you’re traveling with,” the guy sneered. He could see his lip pulling back over his teeth, and it made his hands shake all the worse. “You’re gonna tell me where he is, because if you do, I _won’t_ just shoot him as soon as I find him.”

Jeremy leaned forward just a bit further and could see that he was, in fact, holding a gun in one hand. And he had something in the other, too, something he couldn’t quite make out. Just a little further, and he could see his Dad. He didn’t so much as look at him.

“What a generous offer, there. I take it killing children is a hobby of yours?” Dad asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Do you really wanna play games right now, or are you going to answer my question?” the man asked back.

“ _Courez vers la voiture._ I can assure you, I am not traveling with any sort of boy,” Dad laughed.

Jeremy frowned. He’d said the phrase like a sort of insulting nickname, but it wasn’t a name at all. He was panicking so hard that it took him a long few seconds to decipher the phrase.

‘Run to the car.’

They’d talked about this. There was a compartment in the car that was just big enough to fit him. If someone ever tried to attack him, and he didn’t think that wherever they were staying was safe, he was meant to run to the car and hide in there for as long as he thought he needed.

His hands were shaking. He made a choice.

“This is your last warning,” the man said, and clearly meant it.

“And this is the last time I’ll tell you, I have no idea what child you’re talking about,” Dad said firmly, not looking at Jeremy as he crept past the door to the room proper.

“Alright,” the man shrugged, and lifted his other hand, and Jeremy spotted some kind of syringe. “No skin off my back. You made your choice.”

He hurried as best he could to Dad’s bag, digging through it as fast as possible as he heard the sound of a struggle. There was a shout, the sound of some kind of close combat, a crunch, swearing, a second more panicked shout. He found what he needed and checked it over, hoped, hoped.

“You’ll go unconscious within a few minutes, with that,” the man’s voice came, underlined with anger but overall more smug than anything else. “I wouldn’t fight it if I were you. I’m only gonna wait a few minutes, and then if you aren’t under, I’ll do it with the butt of that there gun.”

“And I’ll knock another one of your teeth out, does that sound fair?” Dad said, and Jeremy peered back through the doorway again. He’d been knocked back into the bathtub, and was bleeding from the nose, and at some point around his hairline. And the man was facing towards him, and the handgun was on the counter just out of arm’s reach.

“H-hey,” Jeremy managed to squeak, and the man turned around, and his eyes landed on the handgun that was pointed straight at his head.

A brief pause. “Oh, isn’t this intimidating,” the man drawled. “A nine year old with a gun.”

“I-I-I’m twelve,” Jeremy choked out, and wished he could keep his voice steady, wished he wasn’t on the verge of tears. “Y-you get away from my Papa _right now_.”

“Or what?” the man asked, laughing a little.

“Or else I’m gonna shoot you with this fucking _gun_ , dumbass, what, are you stupid?” he spat, trying hard to put bite into his words and the man laughed again.

“You’re shaking in your boots,” he scoffed, and Jeremy looked at his Dad, not sure how to get this man to stop laughing at him. Dad looked terrified, even more than he had when he was the one with a gun pointed at his head.

“Papa, th-this is the man who hit you earlier?” he asked, just for confirmation. Dad nodded after a moment, but it was slow, foggy. He seemed sluggish, confused, like he was having trouble keeping his eyes open.

Dad wasn’t gonna be able to save him from this. He couldn’t even help. He was all alone.

He blinked, and felt tears rolling down his cheeks. The man laughed again. “Oh, look, now the kid is crying. And you think that’s intimidating?”

Jeremy wished he wasn’t crying. It was making his eyesight blurry. At this rate, it was gonna fuck up his shot. A leg wound wouldn’t kill him, but it would make a point.

He aimed the gun and pulled the trigger.

It kicked back hard, and he winced at it, wanting to rub the shock out of his arms, but he didn’t, knew he couldn’t lower the weapon. The man, meanwhile, shouted, hands immediately going to the point of impact, mirth gone in an instant. _“You little son of a fucking bitch! You fucking SHOT me!”_ he hollered, gripping at his knee, blood starting to leak through his fingers rapidly.

“I’m not saying it again,” Jeremy spat, lip pulling back in a sneer. “Get away from my Papa or lose the other goddamn kneecap.”

A pause as he took great, heaving, shuddering breaths, and then he was trying to stagger forward. Jeremy stepped back to maintain the distance between them, and the man paused at the doorframe to glare at him with the most venom and rage he’d ever seen on a human face before. Then he was staggering forward further, leaning heavily on anything he could get within reach of. Jeremy followed him out the door, kept the gun trained on him as he went down the stairs to his car. He paused at the car door, and Jeremy fired a round into the car to make a point. It shattered the passenger side window, and that made his point, and the man scrambled into his seat and peeled out of the parking lot before the door was even shut properly.

He sprinted back into the room, discarding the gun on the counter and going to his Dad. “Papa?” he tried, voice pleading, and damn it, he was crying again, because his eyes were closed and the bruise looked so much worse than it did before. “Papa, c’mon, please wake up. Please!”

He had to shake him by the shoulders pretty hard before he blearily blinked his eyes open. “A-ah, _mon lapin_ , I am, very sorry,” he managed to wheeze, so weakly. “This man… caught me, off guard, a bit. I’m not sure what was… in the syringe. Some sort, of… _somnifère_. What is the word?”

“Knocks you out?”

“Nearly,” Dad agreed. “Nearly. I’m… going to be… weak, for a while. I… need you to, do something for me.”

“Y-yeah?”

“I need… you to continue, to be very brave. And I need, for you to keep that gun. And lock the door. And make sure that… nobody else breaks in. And as soon as I’m… alright again. We will leave. And… talk about things. You are… very brave, and I’m proud of you, and… I’m sorry, that this happened.”

“Are you gonna be okay?” he asked quietly.

“ _Oui_. I will… be fine.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” he agreed right away, and Jeremy sniffled and leaned in for a hug. Dad tried to hug him back, even if it was weak and a little awkward. “It will be alright.”

“I was really scared,” he admitted, voice tight.

“Are you scared now?” Dad asked quietly.

He thought about it. “…Not really.”

“Good.” He shifted, and Jeremy pulled back. “Will you be able to do what I asked?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright.” Dad flashed him a tight smile. “You’ll do just fine, Jeremy.”

“Okay,” he said, and inhaled, and exhaled, and picked up the gun again.


	8. Poisoned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [["dasaniperson asked: Excuse me, but may I please request a fic about that time you mentioned in your dad spy au that Scout was poisoned? It’s fine if you don’t want to I just really like forcing family bonding though comically tragic circumstances. Thanks."]]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (warnings for poison and mention of a child being in etc dangerous circumstances)

Across the table from him, Jeremy started frowning and stopped fidgeting with his straw, which was his first clue that something was wrong. The second was when he took a moment to lie his head down on the surface of the diner’s table, and the third was when he quietly told Spy that he didn’t really like this place’s hot chocolate very much. He thought it said it had some kind of peppermint in it, but mostly it just tasted a whole lot like almonds.

Almonds, Jacques thought, and saw the peculiar way Jeremy took a deep breath, and he felt his heart nearly stop.

A mad rush to the motel where he first urged Jeremy to throw up as much as he could manage, followed by giving him a hearty dose of charcoal to try and flush whatever he could out of Jeremy’s system as quickly as possible, followed then by hearty amounts of water and a bolt for the car, because anyone who would try to administer cyanide to his son was probably smart enough to send someone to tail them as far as the motel, and they needed to act quickly.

And then Jacques found himself at the side of the road up some mountain path half an hour away in the spaghetti-like terrain, hugging his son loosely enough to try not to choke him any further.

“Pops, I’ll be _fine_ ,” Jeremy insisted, muffled against his shoulder, a change in height that was still new enough to be strange to Jacques. But his assurance was weakened by the way he was clinging for support. “Just gotta sleep it off, maybe. I’ll be okay. You can quit freakin’ out.”

“I cannot and will not stop freaking out,” Jacques insisted, hugging him tighter for a moment. “Not until I’m sure this has passed.”

Truthfully, he didn’t know exactly how long that would take. They were just past the 30 minute mark, which was usually, he knew, around the part where the person died if they were going to die at any point. But his son was not only conscious, but actively complaining, which surely was a good sign.

The remainder of their afternoon and well into the night, he found himself pacing, fretting, fidgeting with things and nagging and adjusting things just so where they’d finally settled down, at an empty campground a half hour’s drive away where he was reasonably certain they wouldn’t be found. And Jeremy continued to whine and complain about the treatment he was receiving where he’d been all but buckled into place in the back seat of their car, whinging about being coddled and babied and fussed over. But nothing could dissuade Jacques from it, and Jeremy seemed to catch on to that fact pretty quickly and just settled in to ride it out.

He made them both a little dinner with what they had in the small cooler they kept with them, and Jeremy ate cautiously enough to tell him that he was still nauseous, and he found himself trying to think of things to keep him distracted. He settled for asking Jeremy about that comic book he’d been rambling about earlier that week, and that earned him a solid hour’s rant about the ins and outs of American superheroes.

He was just getting a breath in to ask if this Green Lantern situation ever involved an actual lantern at any given point when Jeremy stopped suddenly, glancing down at his empty plate and setting it down to one side after a moment’s consideration.

“Sorry, I know this, uh, isn’t your speed,” he apologized quietly.

“Er,” Jacques said carefully, “I will admit that I’m not sure I’m doing the best job of picking up on all of these different names, but I do find all of this very interesting, for what that’s worth.”

Jeremy shrugged. “Uh. I dunno, maybe this just… feels weird, is all. Like, talkin’ about these guys who can fly and shoot lasers and stuff when, like… when stuff is so serious the rest of the time. Like, talkin’ about Hal Jordan versus Alan Scott when I got poisoned this morning.”

A sinking feeling. He tried to choose his words carefully. “In my opinion, that does not make what we’re talking about matter less, just… expands everything else around it,” he finally said. “Maybe it feels smaller to you, but only because this has made you take the proverbial step back. A different perspective.”

A pause. “Maybe,” Jeremy said quietly. Another pause. “I just think Hal Jordan isn’t gonna be anywhere near as cool, is all.”

“Big shoes to fill,” Jacques agreed easily enough.

“Yeah. Like, first of all, Alan Scott was already two first names, but I’ll let Scott slide because I don’t hear it much, right? But _Hal Jordan?_ That’s even dumber! Who would name their kid that? That’s, like, _askin’_ for your kid to end up a superhero or somethin’. It’s just like Clark Kent. Pick somethin’ normal.”

“For the record, normal names have yet to exempt either of us from trouble,” he joked.

“Yeah, but, like, come on! But yeah, so it’s a whole thing that there’s only so many rings, right—?”

And just like that, Jeremy was launching back into his explanation. And later on, once he was recovered, Jacques decided to maybe bring it up again, this feeling of dread, of things feeling so much less than before. But in the mean time, he really needed to figure out how Green Arrow was meant to fit in with all these other Green individuals.


	9. First Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [["Anonymous asked: I'm a sucker for controlled angst: Scout in the Father-Son Bonding AU dying during a work day at Mann Co. just in front of Spy. They still aren't totally used to the Respawn system, so we have a scared Jeremy calling for his "Papa"."]]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (warnings for canon-typical violence, blood, temporary character death, the works. hurt no comfort)

Off to one side, under the sound of gunfire and explosions and screaming and shouting and the very ground beneath him shaking at the volume, a very quiet word that cut through all of it, an ice cold knife.

“Papa,” croaked in a tiny, horribly familiar voice.

He was there before he was processing it, and then he felt the adrenaline rush dropping from where it had wrapped up to cushion his mind, leaving him with shaking hands and wide eyes.

He couldn’t even tell what all was a wound and what was just a bloody splatter, shrapnel and bone melding together as his vision swam. He blinked hard and tried to process facts, even as every alarm bell in his mind rang loud and clear over it, noise on top of noise.

At least one knee fully destroyed, no chance of walking. His son was dying. Fragmentation to the chest, collapse on the left side. His son was dying. If his lung on that side was still functional it wouldn’t be for long and oh fucking lord his son was _dying—_

It‘s not real, some part of his mind tried to remind him, but it felt real.

Jeremy— _Scout_ had his hand, was squeezing it tightly enough for him to feel the bones beneath creaking. “I can’t,” he seemed to be trying to say over and over under his breath, or maybe with the last of his breath, face horribly pale, hair clinging to his forehead with sweat, but he couldn’t get past that first word. Couldn’t walk? Couldn’t breathe? Couldn’t think? And all Spy himself could think to do was assure him that it was alright, it was alright, he was going to be alright, he was here, he was here.

And he cradled him close as his son’s body was wracked with sobs without breath behind them, pressed a kiss to his temple and rocked him the way he did to get him back to sleep when he was young, and his own tears had too much breath behind them, inhales without exhales, yet the pit in his chest couldn’t fill.

And he wouldn’t even notice that the crying had stopped until the body dissolved away, and he wouldn’t get up from the ground, instead sent back to their lockers by a series of shots into his back, and he wouldn’t get up from that ground either, not for a long time. Not until the next time Scout came back through and he had to pretend he was just taking a brief break, had to pretend to not be as bothered as he was, because he had to be strong.

He’d been the one to get them both into this mess, the least he could do was hold himself together until he could get them both back out of it again.


	10. Mother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [["Anonymous asked: Jeremy: Hey dad tell me about mom. Spy: If you and I ever live a hundred lives each, combined, we won't approach to be as cool as she is."]]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (warnings for brief alcohol mention)

It was quiet in the rec room after hours. The rowdier members of the team had ended up breaking the poker table during the drinking night they’d had two weeks prior and had still yet to replace it, so when they went out that night it was to a bar in a town a solid half-hour away where they hadn’t been formally evicted from the establishment. And those that hadn’t gone were either busy with their hobbies or trying to catch up on their sleep, leaving the rec room to the father and son duo, who for the most part were just sitting quietly. Scout was listening to the radio quietly while he tried to grind his way through a book, hoping to refresh his knowledge of Spanish again, and Spy was reading through a small stack of newspapers and magazines.

And they spent nearly an hour in that silence, perfectly comfortable with it, until Scout heard Spy humming along quietly to the song on the radio—a pretty old one that Scout knew he’d heard before, had pointed out to him before, but he couldn’t remember why.

“Where do I know this song from?” he finally asked before it ended, going a little crazy trying to jog his memory.

Spy looked up at him, visibly needing a second to process the question. “This is ‘Darn That Dream’. I _believe_ this version is sung by Dinah Washington,” he replied, listening closer for a moment before promptly turning his attention back to his newspaper. “It was one of your mother’s favorites. She would play the record it was on almost constantly.”

A pause before Scout nodded, looking back down at his book, but he found he couldn’t latch back on to the words, instead listening more closely to the music for a few moments. “She liked this, uh, jazzy kinda music?” he asked.

“Very much,” Spy nodded. “She had that sort of good taste in most areas of her life, when she could help it. She was like a sponge for any kind of culture or knowledge that she came across, it was remarkable.”

Another nod, another pause. “Like, just music?”

“Oh, everything. She was very well-read, and changed my mind about a variety of different books I thought I had a fairly concrete knowledge on. She had opinions on art, always wanted to go to the museum for dates. And we would go there, and she would look at the paintings, and then by the next time we went she would have read a dozen books on all the paintings there and we’d go see them again and this time she would explain them in great detail. I always thought she would do an excellent job as a tour guide, except that she walked and talked quite quickly and I imagine most tourists would have trouble keeping up with her, and besides that I was worried if anyone else ever saw her that far in her element they’d fall just as terribly in love with her as I did every single time. I can’t imagine how long that trail of broken hearts would end up.”

Scout had stopped all pretense of pretending to read, instead listening with his full attention on Spy. “That cool, huh?” he asked quietly.

“More than anyone else I’ve ever met in my life. She was more interesting than everyone in this base combined, myself included. She had more personality in one pinky finger than I could spend the rest of my life accumulating,” he continued with some feeling.

A long pause. “Do you think… she’d be upset if she found out I was doin’ this too now?” Scout asked, just barely audible over the radio.

Spy took a moment to think about it. “No, that wasn’t what she was like,” he finally said. “She wouldn’t feel any particular way about it until you had the chance to explain yourself, and she’d heard from someone else as well, and then taken some time to think things over. Then after that, I don’t think she would be angry, I think she would simply worry over you endlessly until she was fully satisfied that you were not only safe, but as happy as possible in your circumstances.”

“What makes you say that?” Scout asked.

Spy shrugged. “That’s how she was with me,” he said simply. “And to be frank, I think she would potentially be even more forgiving for you, _mon lapin_. No matter how old you get, I imagine she’d still see you as her baby. I occasionally heard your brothers complaining about it, what amount I saw them.”

A pause, a nod. “Cool,” Scout finally said, and five minutes later he managed to get himself to start reading again, deciding to stew more when he was on his own, and to maybe try and find that album if he had the chance.


	11. Romance Languages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [["Anonymous asked: Sniper reacting to Scout speaking French?"]]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (no warnings)

_“Passez-moi ça?”_

Sniper looked up with narrowed eyes. “…What?” he asked, confused.

“I said ‘pass me that’, what, are you deaf or somethin’?” Scout snipped, raising an eyebrow as he pointed just past Sniper at the salt shaker, accent firmly East Coast American, decidedly _not_ speaking in what had sounded like fluent French. Sniper leaned to do as he was asked, passing the salt over, albiet with his eyebrows furrowed. “Thanks.”

“No… problem,” Sniper mumbled, trying to shake it off and go back to his breakfast.

Later that week, a similar situation. He was sure that Scout mumbled some long, drawn-out curse in French as he was assailed by gunfire on the field just below Sniper’s perch—or was that Spanish, actually?—but as soon as he tuned in properly, it was the regularly scheduled smattering of ‘fuck’ and ‘shit’ and ‘bitch’.

He was so sure that he could catch it, if he just focused. The problem was that he would half-sarcastically answer Spy’s questions with ‘oui’, or otherwise offhandedly mock his accent, and while he was half-sulking over having missed it again, Scout would say something under his breath that for sure sounded like it was in French, but he never heard it clearly enough to be positive.

Maybe he slipped into the accent when he mumbled. Sniper knew his own accent got thicker when he was tired, or drinking, or talking to himself. Maybe Scout just had a bit of an accent that he’d picked up from his dad, and he worked hard to phase it out of his speech most of the time.

He finally caught it when he wasn’t paying attention—and ironically, or perhaps therefore, when Scout wasn’t either.

“The, er, Eastern Coast,” Sniper mumbled, eyes feeling heavy, glancing over at where Scout was half-sprawled across the table from him, a version of relaxed that looked a little less calculated than it usually did, probably due to the nearly-empty bottle of whiskey between the two of them. “What’s, er, what’s that, then?”

“Fuck’s that mean?” Scout mumbled.

“What’s it like? All cities and the like out there?” Sniper elaborated.

“I didn’t actually grow up out there, y’know,” Scout said, rolling his eyes either exaggeratedly or clumsily. “Just knew I might’ve, watched a lot of movies, started mimicking the accent and it uh. Stuck, y’know?”

“So you’ve no idea what the place is like?”

“Nah.”

“Not the slightest? Not, not even a bit? No idea about the—“ He idly tilted his glass around, trying to remember the right words. “—the, the scenery, the food, the people—“

“Again, I’ve barely been, _comment le saurais-je?”_ he drawled, looking right at Sniper.

It took a few seconds, but then Sniper was on his feet, pointing in a way that was entirely accusatory. “French!” he said, startled, surprised, delighted. “Bloody knew it!”

A few moments of Scout just blinking at him, a little wide eyed, before he shook his head dismissively, glaring off to one side, face red maybe for reasons besides the alcohol. “My dad’s French, you think I didn’t pick up nothin’?” he scoffed, but his eyes flickered up and away, and his accent was more pronounced, more like cardboard.

“How long do you think you can get away with pretending you’re not as clever as you actually are?” Sniper demanded, feeling unusually brave.

Another glance, and away, his eyes just a bit wider for a second. “No idea what the hell you’re talkin’ about,” he murmured.

“You speak multiple languages fluently, mate. That’s a far cry more intelligent than plenty of the other blokes here. And I’m willing to bet you suddenly ‘remembering’ recipes when you’ve got no choice but to cook isn’t nearly as accidental as you want to make it seem, and I know for a fact you’ve got to be sewing your own clothes when they tear—“

“How do you know Spy doesn’t do it for me?” he demanded.

“Because he tailors half of his own, as well,” Sniper shot right back. “And you’ve got nearly all the blokes figured out on how to talk to them properly, and how long do you think you’ll get to pretend it’s _Spy_ who keeps breaking in here and fiddling with my things?”

“That last one is stupid, he _loves_ snooping, he does that to everyone,” Scout said, rolling his eyes again.

“Except I know it’s not. When _Spy_ breaks in somewhere, the bastard leaves behind the cigarette and cologne smell. It’s his one and only tell. _You_ , however, don’t leave a damn thing behind.”

Scout’s expression looked pinched.

“It’s clever, I’ll give you that much. He’s a much clearer target for blame. But I was bound to figure it out eventually, and so are the rest.”

“I still dunno what you’re talkin’ about,” Scout said stubbornly.

“Well, I’d repeat it in French if I could, but unfortunately, I don’t know it,” Sniper shrugged, and Scout rolled his eyes again, but this time he caught the very edge of a smile.

* * *

“Um… _b-bo-are_ —“

“ _Boire_ ,” Scout corrected lightly.

“ _Boire,_ ” Sniper repeated, only slightly warping the word with his accent. “Er… _avec… ma amis_.”

“Either _mon ami_ or _mes amis_ ,” Scout corrected again.

“Damn.”

Scout, to his credit, had been trying to just chill out and read a magazine, hanging out in Sniper’s space while he worked his way through folding his laundry without making Sniper talk to him. He was aware that Sniper preferred not to be pestered. So the impromptu French lesson was a little unexpected.

“I still don’t know why you don’t just ask Spy for help,” Scout quipped, and switched over to French. “ _It’ll take a long time to learn French well enough to figure out what I’m saying to you, and I doubt you’ll still even be interested in me by then._ ”

“Oi, cut that out,” Sniper said, shooting him a brief glare. “I’m not that far ahead. And the reason I’m not asking Spy is because the man despises me.”

“He doesn’t despise you,” Scout protested, rolling his eyes. “He just, uh… doesn’t… like some stuff about you.”

“Right, some things, and then also everything else,” Sniper agreed, and shot a grin at Scout when that earned him a little laugh. “Go on, let me try another one.”

“You didn’t even get that last one right!”

“Got there eventually. Go on.”

Scout laughed, thought for a second. “Okay. Here’s an easy one. ‘Where are my keys?’, _Où sont mes clés_.”

“ _Oui sont mes clés_.”

“ _Où sont,_ not _oui sont_. That’s just saying ‘yes are’, that’s, that’s nothing.”

“ _Où sont,_ ” Sniper repeated back.

“Jesus fuckin’ christ, the accent is killin’ me,” Scout groaned.

“It can’t possibly be that bad, mate.”

“Just—just let it do its thing, man! Go with the flow a little bit! You’re pronouncing shit too much! It sounds ridiculous!”

“Mind saying the word ‘bugger’, right quick?” Sniper asked, arching an eyebrow at him.

“…Bugger?” Scout tried.

“Ugh. There, see? You can’t speak my language, neither. No reason to laugh,” Sniper said, only a little huffy about it. “Go on, another one.”

“You’re just gonna sound like a dumbass.”

“But I’ll be learning, won’t I?”

Scout thought for a long moment, then another. “Uh, how about this. ‘I think I’m getting better at this’, it’s ‘ _Je pense que vous es attirant’_.”

Sniper turned his head and looked. “… _Je pense, que vous, es attirant_ , is it?” he asked.

“Wow, first try,” Scout blinked, and tried not to flush, tried not to smile too wide and give himself away. “Yeah, you nailed it.”

“Why’s there a ‘you’ in there, then?” Sniper asked, and Scout looked down at his magazine.

“Part of a figure of speech.”

“Right.” Quiet for a second. “Not going to tell me, then?”

“You’ll figure it out or you won’t, one of the two,” Scout shrugged, and Sniper was shaking his head at him when he looked up, and he didn’t think Sniper knew what he really said, but he was pretty sure he could piece together the gist of it. “Your accent is still distracting.”

“So’re you, but I still keep you around, don’t I?” Sniper pointed out, turning back to his folding again.

A scoff, a skip to French. “ _And here I thought that was because I’m hot,_ ” Scout laughed.

Sniper’s head practically whipped around. “What was that one?” he asked, almost urgently.

“Uh, what?” Scout tried, a little surprised.

“Heard _beau_ in there, isn’t that, er, isn’t that like ‘love’ or ‘sweetheart’ or something like that?” Sniper demanded.

Scout was pretty sure his face was bright red. “I—well I guess, in some situations, yeah, it can mean that,” he stammered. “Not—not this time, uh—“

“Then what did you say?”

Scout clammed up, flushed up to his ears, and Sniper grinned at his silence. “Fuck off,” Scout finally mumbled, hiding behind his magazine, and flipped Sniper off when he started to chuckle.


	12. Heart to Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [["Anonymous asked: in the dadspy au Id like to see scout and spy having an actual heart to heart conversation in french about how much scout loves sniper and how he wants his dad to understand this time it will be good and hes happy and there is nothing to worry about"]]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (warnings for mention of canon-typical violence)

“Is he kind to you?” Spy asked in French one day during a team dinner, nodding meaningfully in the direction of the salt shaker, or more notably, towards Sniper across the table.

Scout knew this game. It was one he’d learned around age twelve, practiced in roadside diners and very rarely used. He sighed hard as he leaned to pick the salt up, only half-pretending to be annoyed when he replied, also switching over to French. “Yeah, he is. I keep telling you that he is,” he said, passing the salt over.

Spy pointed down the table at the pepper, tone joking though his words were serious. “Forgive me for not implicitly trusting the moral values of a hired assassin.”

Scout had to stand at his seat to reach as far as the pepper. “I’ve forgiven you for worse,” he mumbled, and handed it over. “Look, he’s nice to me, he doesn’t make fun of me, and he can _basically_ cook. You see any other options for me?”

“You very much have the option of remaining single and keeping yourself out of danger,” Spy pointed out.

“Fuck off, Spy,” Scout said in English, and that was that.

Until the next day in battle, both of them pinned down behind a low wall for cover, waiting for the fight between the two teams’ Heavies to resolve before they could safely stand. “You know, the Sniper claimed when that director gentleman was here that he has a plan to kill any given one of us if the need arises,” Spy said, again in French.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure—duck!” Scout barked, and they both covered their heads briefly as a pipe bomb threw shrapnel up around them. “Uh, pretty sure he was joking. Being dramatic.”

“And if he wasn’t?”

“Sorry, am _I_ supposed to be calling people out for being paranoid? Hey, while I’m at it, do you have anything else that you want me to pass along to the kettle?” Scout asked sarcastically.

“He’s dangerous,” Spy emphasized.

“Yeah, and so are we, and lucky for us he’s also smart enough to know better than to try something stupid like killing us. Go sap a sentry or something, Christ!” Scout groaned, darting off to pick a fight somewhere.

“So when he tries to kill you one day,” Spy started in from just to one side of Scout, who jumped, having been lost in thought putting his weapons away and not paying particular attention to his surroundings. “For knowing too much. Do you think he’ll feel bad? Feel regret?”

Scout sighed hard, dropping his bat in the locker and slamming it shut, glaring at Spy, who just raised an eyebrow at the display. A moment of silence. “Y’know what he said to me the other day?” Scout finally asked. Spy shook his head. “He said he thinks I’m nice to listen to. That he likes hearing me talk and tell stories about stuff. That I’m interesting. And then back before that he said I’m really funny, and back before _that_ he just kinda walked up and asked if I was doing okay when I had a rough match. You know how many other people have done that? Have been nice to me like that?”

Spy shook his head again.

“Yeah, well, I’m looking at the only one.”

A silence again.

“Look, I’m not asking you to like him. I’m not asking you to trust him. Hell, I don’t even need you to talk to him. Just… let me pick, okay? That’s all I want, is to get to pick.”

A pause. “Alright,” Spy finally said. “I’ll let you make your own choices. I’m sorry.”

“Cool. Well, for my first choice, I’m picking Sniper,” Scout said, and walked away.

“What’s the French about?” Sniper asked, glancing up as Scout took a seat next to him on a bench.

“Talkin’ about the news,” Scout lied in English, and Sniper shrugged, and that was that.


	13. [Assorted Asks]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Assorted Asks, in chronological order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic block is the compendium for all that I've already written for what I'm calling the Father-Son Bonding AU, which started in a post on my tumblr. The order of chapters will be shifted as new content is slotted in to where it fits on my mental timeline, and chapters will be in chronological order, and given the nature of the AU there isn't much of an overarching story so this fic will always be marked as complete. The final "chapter" will be updated regularly, as it will contain the asks of questions and ideas that aren't fully fleshed out in writing, but do help add some meat and bones to the AU that I felt were important to include, but not important enough to serve as their own chapters.
> 
> Also please note that, although I'm the one who started in on this idea and AU, it's fully open to new ideas and branches and contributions at any given time from anyone, and what I consider to be the timeline for it is essentially just my own headcanons and thoughts on things. Feel free to play in the space! My word isn't law here, this is just a fanwork based on a concept from some anonymous asker on tumblr.
> 
> Thank you, and enjoy!

> **"Anonymous** asked: Ever played with the idea of how Scout would have been if he had been raised by Spy, instead of his mom? Still in the Scout role, but just... french? haha"

i figure the way that would happen is that spy has essentially said his goodbyes to the rest of the seven boys in more lowkey ways over the course of a week or so, and already had his tearful goodbye to scout’s mother, and is saying his last one to little baby Jeremy (probably about a year and a half old at that point) in the middle of the night before he goes off to make sure the faked death plot goes well then to high-tail it out of Boston. but then when he goes to put baby Jeremy back in his crib he just won’t let go, and keeps making little almost-crying noises, and when he tries to peel his little hand off the lapel of his suit jacket he says “papa!” in the tiniest saddest little voice in the world and spy knows he’s completely fucked.

he figures out how to put a baby seat in his shiny fancy car and he’s halfway through Pennsylvania before scout’s mother wakes up and finds out that he took the baby with him, and she adjusts her story accordingly, and both Spy and little Jeremy are declared legally dead by the time they hit Missouri.

spy has even more pressure to wrap up the espionage thing with a baby with him, and so takes fewer jobs than he otherwise would, and longer breaks in-between. scout grows up largely homeschooled, and by the age of five, scout is fluent in both English and French and knows a good chunk of Spanish, Russian, and Mandarin. he’s homeschooled through his elementary school years and ends up with a fairly solid grasp of math and history and etc, as well as a number of other skills like lying through his teeth and remembering the fake name of the week. he’s also picked up on the fact that his lifestyle isn’t exactly standard, and that other kids do things besides kick around motel rooms reading comics and making crayon drawings and listening to the radio.

i think around age eight he becomes obsessed with the idea of being on a baseball team with other kids, and spy starts taking time out of his day to at least play catch with him, and encourages that he maybe join a baseball team a few years down the road when he’s a little older. maybe even the major league! in the meantime, conjugate some verbs into German.

at age eleven his first aid lessons begin unexpectedly when he needs to help spy patch up a bullet wound in his back, and at age twelve his combat lessons begin when he picks up one of those guns his dad always told him to stay away from and points it at one of the goons who broke into their motel room and hit his papa over the head with a two-by-four. by the time he’s fourteen, spy has stopped lecturing him for carrying a knife and encourages him going on runs to keep busy, and he gets his own pistol and is taught how to shoot it for his fifteenth birthday. three months later, he puts two bullets through a man’s shoulder in a car chase and doesn’t stick around to see if he bleeds out.

at age sixteen he gets the first of many fake licenses, and the courage to steal his dad’s cigarette case, and he finds a note congratulating him for getting away with it and a phone number. he calls it, and the woman who picks up nearly bursts into tears as he tentatively tells her that his name is jeremy.

he’s eighteen and change when one day his dad sits him down and carefully informs him that he got a job offer. full-time, consistent pay, guaranteed safety, to do exactly the thing he was good at. and, he said, tone careful, there was a spot for scout too. and he asks scout if he would feel alright taking a job like that, and listens carefully to his answer, to his thought process, to the terms and conditions he would want on something like that, and makes a phone call, and they get in the car and drive to new mexico.

and this Scout is a little quieter, a little more quick-witted. sharper, less friendly, still a prettyboy and keeping the team tricked for almost a full year into thinking he’s some kind of dunce until the day he lets it slip on a mission that he can speak Russian fluently and do long division in his head and keep a borderline photographic memory of a map he’s only barely glanced at. and he’s still hopeless about miss pauling (a life on the run meaning he didn’t have particularly good practice with hitting on girls), and he’s still a bit jumpy, but everything about him is a little sharper, a little harsher. and it’s only a year or two into his contract that he starts to relax, starts to joke around and act his age, starts to goof off and laugh with his chest and ramble about Tom Jones. and spy still has to live with guilt, because it’s his fault that scout felt that he had to be so mature all the time, but this time he’s in a position to maybe, perhaps, start to fix it.

> spinach-productions: oh my god I love all of this

> If I may join the party: I think cannon!Scout and cannon!Spy's arrogance come from the same fear of not being good enough-- Spy bc mistakes can have Serious Consequences in his line of work, and Scout bc his dad abandoned him at an early age. In this AU (so good SO GOOD), Scout probably picks up his dad's arrogance instead of the one we see above, which would change him from "I want to be the best so people like me" to "I want to be the best to _prove I'm better than everyone_ ".
> 
> What I'm saying is: Scout doing a lot of ocean's 11 level convenience store robberies and social engineering as a kid (when he can get away with it from him dad) and falling back on that when he's stressed. Stressed as in suddenly living with 8 other people when it's only be him and dad his whole life.
> 
> Scout being a little shit in ways no one can pin on him, ex. changing engine's schematics just enough so they don't work, scuffing Soldier's boots just enough to wind him up for explosion. Medic's lab becomes a holy grail of things to steal bc the consequences are so high.
> 
> And if anyone notices anything? Scout's just a guy who runs, he couldn't he pull any of this shit are you kiddin' me?

i want there to be a running gag of people like pointing at spy and lecturing him to not snoop through their stuff and do petty theft and etc and it cuts over to scout in an armchair across the room like “yeah, spy, who would even do that? don’t be an asshole”

like a shot of medic getting on spy’s case for trying to break into the infirmary and snoop through people’s medical and personal records and behind him you just see scout walking out with armfuls of papers, giving spy a thumbs up

sometimes the way you bond with your son is catching him on the way out of his latest gas station heist and telling him “c’mon what are you doing. that’s not even a good disguise, here wear this—“

* * *

> **"Anonymous** asked: Thank you now Im absolutely obsessed with DadSpy raising Jeremy. I need to know everything. How do they feel about each other? How do they address each other? Do they have arguments at all? Did Ma ever see Scout, or does he even know he has a mom? And totally unrelated to family, but how would Speeding Bullet would work with this Scout? Intrigue is killing me!"

i think scout ended up hitting his rebellious moody teen phase pretty early on in life (entirely justified) and then held on to parts of that, and definitely ended up sharp enough to give spy some serious shit, but i think they really do love each other a lot. and i think this version of spy is more open with talking to his son, and isn’t afraid to say it, his main problem being that he still struggles sometimes with remembering to treat scout like an adult man, and scout isn’t thrilled about that but still loves his dad and understands him more than maybe anyone else in the world.

i think scout referred to spy as ‘Papa’ until he was about eight or nine, then switched over to ‘Dad’ and ‘Pops’. i think he mostly refers to him as Pops in front of other people, and saves the Dad title for when stuff is serious. and i think sometimes when shit has gone thoroughly south and he’s really completely freaked the fuck out he might use spy’s real name or switch back to Papa for the short term because that word holds a lot of safety for him. he’s used enough to being able to call spy by fake names that switching over to calling him spy in front of other people isn’t a particularly difficult change for him.

i think spy has probably always referred to scout as ‘mon lapin’ among more common terms of endearment, to the point that when scout was learning to talk he briefly assumed that his name was Lapin. and scout went through phases of used to the name, then happy when he found out what it meant, then annoyed because it’s embarrassing, then used to it again but sometimes pretending to be annoyed if he’s called that in front of other people. he sometimes refers to scout as Jeremy if he’s particularly proud of him or in more serious moments or freaked out, and of course he has the full “Jeremy [middle name] [spy’s real last name]” when he’s in trouble for something.

i think they’re in a near-constant state of argument still, but not because they’re actually mad, they just both love to argue and bicker and know that the other one isn’t actually trying to hurt their feelings. mostly they just bounce back and forth along the same few arguments with small differences, and the rest of the team is a bit nervous watching it at first because they both fire in pretty hard on it, but they’re just being dramatic. they haven’t had a ton of actual fights (mostly just a few when scout was a young teen), mostly just things regarding scout wanting a little more freedom to do his own thing versus spy trying to make sure he’s both safe and happy.

scout reached a point of kind of *knowing* that he had a mom, but he always figured that something happened to her when he was younger and that’s why spy didn’t bring her up. he started asking questions when he was ten or eleven, and spy was very willing to talk about her and how much he loved her but also very good at dodging talking about what ‘happened’ to her (because he didn’t want to lie and say she was dead, but he didn’t want scout to get his hopes up). he got to see a picture of her at some point that spy tracked down, and when he was a little older spy finally sat him down of his own accord and explained everything—how he snuck away with him in the middle of the night, his Ma, the fact that he had a gaggle of brothers and was from Boston, Massachusetts of all places. and then spy very carefully explained why he needed to leave, and why scout couldn’t call and get in touch with them (it would put them in danger), and that hopefully soon they would finish tying up the last of spy’s work and be able to go and meet them. then at age sixteen he does get a phone call, albiet a fairly short one, and walks away from it wildly conflicted. he’s definitely curious, but spy did an effective job explaining why he couldn’t see them much, and at mature-for-his-age-16 he understands that spy just really didn’t want him to get that first correspondence and become completely hooked on talking to them.

the long and short of sniper’s thought process would be “oh my god there’s two of them” followed quickly by “hey you know your dad is a dick right” with scout going “UGHHHH i know right he’s so embarrassing, hey if you really wanna piss him off you should call him [spy’s actual middle name] it makes him super annoyed he hates it it’s funny” in a slightly more good natured way than before. and i think their interaction would be a slight flip of the usual script, sniper being interested to find out scout is actually kind of a big dumb softie goofball under all his hooliganry, and scout mostly being interested in what it was like growing up in a house with a family somewhere quiet then living alone for so long (he just can’t imagine not having spy around watching his back)

> 1tbls: 1. do you think scout would ever be like...... angry at spy for dragging him into this lifestyle? 2. how....... do you think his mom would feel meeting him, seeing how spy's raised him?

i think he’d probably be a little bitter, and might always be upset at spy for not letting him grow up like a regular kid, and the fact that he essentially grew up on the run. but i also think he would reach a point where he sort of understood the reasons, and would start to forgive him on his own time—especially because, all things considered, spy did a good job of keeping him away from the bloodier parts of the job for a long, long time, and overall was very open about the fact that he isn’t perfect and was simply doing as much as he could, and that spy was sorry he couldn’t be better but he would never quit trying to be the sort of dad that scout deserved. i cannot stress enough that actually being there for his kid would have caused spy to grow a lot as a person very quickly.

and i think maybe she would eventually meet scout, years down the line in their employment with Mann Co. and the team. and i think she would absolutely be full on waterworks, and would gasp over how tall he was, and how much he looked like his father, and i think she would insist that she was so, so proud of how strong he was, how smart he was, of him in general. but i think deep down she would be worried, because just like her ‘’’late’’’ husband, this young man standing in front of her keeps glancing over his shoulder, has a lump beneath his jacket on the left side, keeps half an eye out windows and on doors and dodges a few of her more pointed questions on how he’s doing and keeps picking at the scabs he has across both sets of knuckles. and she can’t help but be amazed at just how much he’s his father’s son, even more than the two of them ever noticed. but i don’t think she would try and convince him to leave mercenary work—it hadn’t worked with spy, and she knew it wouldn’t work on him either. all she could do was hope that he would figure that out on his own.

* * *

> **Anonymous** asked: jkfhdsjhjsdf all of this content is great, thank you so much. Also I just need a moment in which DadSpy is like "THAT'S MY BOY RIGHT THERE" to other people when Scout does something that makes him visibly proud (baseball or stealing something or taking his place being spy for a day or whatever)

scout just goes full first day in prison when they show up to meet the rest of the team in new mexico and when soldier is doing his using-his-outside-voice-inside, getting-super-physical, doesn’t-know-his-own-strength thing, scout just straight up stabs him all the way in the arm with a whole pen he had in his pocket and spy across the room just shouts “that’s my boy!” over the sound of assorted yelling and that’s 1. how the team meets scout and spy 2. how they find out spy is scout’s dad in this little AU

* * *

> **Anonymous** asked: does scout in the dadSpy AU have any special interest that canon scout wouldnt have? cause i totally see him cussing out in french when hes frustrated lmao

yeah, i think he’ll often switch to french to curse or mutter complaints or whatever (something he picked up from his dad), and i think that for reasons he doesn’t understand he always switches to spanish when he’s really startled, like he’ll be halfway through a sentence and a balloon will pop or something will blow up outside the base and he’ll just be like “so i figured that the—pUTA _MADRE, DIOS **MIO** —!”_ and so far it’s startled the engineer (also fluent in spanish) literally every single time.

also i think his interests would remain roughly the same, if for slightly different reasons. he likes baseball because it has this “normal people” vibe to it that he likes a lot, he likes going out for runs because for years it was the only major way he ever got out and about on his own. i think in this AU he would really like reading international trash magazines, the kind that are just filled with absolute nothing content, from all these different countries and cultural spheres but with different names. for the deeper meaning sort of thing i think it’d be because he finds it interesting seeing all the very minor cultural differences and what’s cool and what’s frowned upon in different places, but also he just cracks them open because it kills time and he thinks they’re funny

* * *

> **Anonymous** asked: dadspy, probably: why dont you tell me im the best like when you were tiny, why arent you tiny anymore what is going on

a scene with spy trying to find his shoes so he can go out and do some job-related stuff and little kid scout wandering out of the bathroom in their hotel room and clattering around with his dad’s way-too-big for him shoes and dress shirt and sunglasses and a tie, except the tie is tied in a bow because it’s the only knot he knows so far because he just recently learned how to tie his shoes and is very very proud of it, and spy asking him “mon lapin what exactly are you doing” and scout just chirping “look i’m fancy and cool like you now!! i’ve got a tie and everything!!” and spy has to like take a second because it’s the sweetest shit but he pulls himself together and goes “jeremy that isn’t quite how you tie that correctly, how about you give me my shoes back so i can meet with a business partner of mine for coffee, and when i get home i show you how to tie that correctly, oui?”

and scout pouts and whines about it but he gives them back, and spy promises to bring him a hot chocolate back so he can have coffee too (he hasn’t quite figured out the difference yet), and spy does come back later that day with the hot chocolate and starts showing him how to tie a tie, and then scout is clunking around the room again in too-big shoes and a tucked-in shirt and a simple two-in-hand tie with this big cup in his little hands and he says that spy is the BEST with such open honesty and enthusiasm that spy ends up squishing him into the biggest hug for a very long time until scout starts giggling about it and trying to escape (at which point spy decides it’s a game and he’s almost late to his next “coffee appointment” that day with all the horsing around)

and then it cuts forward to both of them getting dressed for their interview for Mann Co. and scout’s hands are shaking enough that he can’t quite get his tie right and spy has to fix it for him, and he asks to borrow a pair of spy’s dress shoes, but it turns out that scout’s feet are a size or two bigger than spy’s so he has to wear his own dented pair. and spy realizes it’s been a long time since he and scout joked around about anything like that, and he wants to say something about it, but it comes out as teasing and joking and poking fun a little bit, and scout just huffs a laugh and rolls his eyes and flips him off and adjusts his tie in a motion that spy is extremely familiar with, having seen it on himself a few million times.

* * *

> **Anonymous** asked: Picturing teen Jeremy in France during a parade or sum, having a day off with his dad and enjoying some music and food. After a while Spy sees his son kissing another boy in the distance and Spy thinks its time for The Talk.

i think an unfortunate fact of life with spy trying to raise a kid and be a mercenary at the same time is that there was really nothing he could do to keep him from learning swear words and age-inappropriate jokes and whatnot. just as there are a bunch of young people in organized crime who would love to have substitute parental figures and the approval of people older than them, there are also tons of older people who would love to have a kid but didn’t or can’t, and would be more than willing to teach a nine year old how to say fuck in like four languages. so i think scout would have known how to swear like a sailor pretty early on in any language he knew more than a few words in, and like a shitty kind-of-lie-laden-but-passing knowledge on most of the stuff you’d cover in the standard “talk”.

but i do think that when they get back to the hotel, spy is in the bathroom shaving or something and just offhandedly goes “who was your friend? in the green shirt?” and scout gets all flustered and goes “oh that was um his name is jimmy he uh he said he liked my hat he’s um he’s really nice” and spy is just like “hm. he had a very stylish haircut. he was about your age, oui? he was oddly well dressed for that age group.” and scout’s like “oh haha yeah couple months older maybe, he was really um really cool. uh he didn’t speak english super well so i was talkin’ to him about it um. so yeah he’s great”

and spy just nods about it and is quiet for a minute and just leans out of the bathroom to make eye contact and he points at scout with the razor and goes “when you eventually start dating, it better be with a boy at least that well-dressed or else i’m chasing him away from you. you deserve someone who cares about that sort of thing and takes care of themselves, understood?” and scout’s just like “oh haha yeah okay i’ll uh i’ll keep that in mind pops no worries”, and spy just nods and goes back to shaving and that’s the whole conversation on the matter. later on in scout’s teens he has to console scout a few times because he really likes some guy or girl he met and doesn’t wanna leave town but they have to.

later on he does have to do the bit from expiration date though because scout has no concept of how a long-term relationship works because he’s never been in one place for more than maybe a month.

* * *

> **Anonymous** asked: Spy: he must be well dressed and take care of himself to gain my approval as your beau

> Sniper, who lives in a van and who has certainly had to take rainwater showers at some point:

spy is 80% sure this is just late-stage teen rebellion except instead of dating a boy in a leather jacket who underage drinks and Smokes CigarettesTM he’s just dating An Australian who Probably Doesn’t Shower Much and Dries His Own Jerky Five Feet From Where He Sleeps which is In A Literal Van

and yes that’s absolutely part of it but also scout thinks sniper is a fascinating dude and really likes just talking to someone who doesn’t take pity on him or act sorry for him and just. treats him like a regular dude without babying him

* * *

> **Anonymous** asked: In the DadSpy AU, how was the first time they saw each other die in Mann Co.? They saw Respawn system work, they know what the deal was, and how they (and their enemies for that matter) would come back, but seeing this changed anything iin them?

i was gonna say i just think my standard Respawn headcanon would apply, then i realized i’ve actually never talked about it before??

my headcanon is that every time someone new is entered into the respawn system, they go through a standard procedure with Miss Pauling as part of their orientation. they have a quick meal, get showered and cleaned off, and put on their uniform. it is then adjusted to their comfort level and they’re brought in to have the Respawn system explained to them. they go through the procedure of being scanned for the machine and are brought into another room to discuss the details and limitations of the machine in regards to weapons and held objects, and to “wait to do a backup scan”.

it is at this point that Miss Pauling takes out her gun, and in the middle of explaining that it would theorerically save everything about the gun (including the number of bullets in the chamber), she shoots whoever she’s speaking to in the head. the idea is that given prior warning, all that would happen is that the person would get nervous and antsy and uncooperative, and potentially even get cold feet. once they’ve been through the system once, they’re less afraid of it, and are more inclined to continue with the job.

i think spy and scout would make this difficult for her, a little bit, because she understands that they’re both bright enough to not get separated so easily so far from civilization. and she can’t exactly shoot both of them at once. so she needs to fire one round into spy, and then hits scout with two clean shots to the chest before he can properly react.

i think they would both be extremely freaked out, and extremely uncomfortable. and i think on the night before their first day in battle, scout and spy would have a discussion about a few things. but i think that both of them would compartmentalize and separate the situation from reality just as much in this AU as i imagine they do in canon, although there would probably be some knee-jerk horrified reactions to seeing each other gunned down or burnt to a crisp, for the first few weeks.

ultimately, i think scout would just be relieved that he doesn’t constantly need to be afraid of losing his dad anymore, and spy would be deeply ashamed of himself for letting things get to this point that his son needs to go through any of this.

* * *

> **Anonymous** asked: In the dadspy AU do you think that spy was usually the one getting hurt because is mainly the one who is in the dangerous stuff or do you think scout would ever get hurt?

i think one thing spy did really well with was keeping scout from getting any particularly unusual injuries, especially related to spy’s profession. there were a good number of scraped knees and arm bruises and general boo-boos (par for the course with a little bundle of energy like Jeremy), but nothing insane for a very long time. i think around age nine was the first time he got hurt with a weapon, but even then it was because he was messing with one of his dad’s knives (even though he was told not to), and one or two times after that, and i think he probably did that a number of times after that. maybe dropped some heavy bags on his toes a few times in the rush to get out of motels, but overall he just got mostly standard kid injuries.

i think the first time he ever got actually hurt as a result of spy’s job was around age fourteen when some kind of poison was slipped into his drink at a diner and he was badly ill for a week, and then another point a few months later when he broke his arm after tumbling out of a moving car. he was first shot around age sixteen (the third firefight he ever got in), and it went straight across his upper bicep, then later that same week he got stabbed in the thigh and needed to patch it up all on his own. i think the worst injury he ever got was the time he took fragmentation across the back and had to sleep on his front for a month, which i think happened a few months before they got recruited to Mann Co. and was a big part of the reason spy decided to accept—one fragment was embedded an inch and a half away from potentially leaving scout permanently paralyzed from the waist down.

i imagine spy ended up getting pretty shredded, though. and he was able to patch himself up most of the time, but did start cheerfully asking scout to help with bandaging his “boo-boos” around the time the scout turned five, and only if he was positive he couldn’t reach to patch it up himself, and only once he was sure it didn’t look horrifically bad.

* * *

> **Anonymous** asked: You mentioned Scout getting shot in the arm,, how would Spy have reacted to this?? I can imagine either very calm and helpful or stressed parent tm

i think in the midst of all the chaos, he wouldn’t get to have much of an opinion on it for a bit. all he would really see is scout looking pissed off with a splash of blood on his arm, and not long later he would see him wrapping it up quickly and pass it off as some more standard injury, and then only later once they’ve caught back up to each other does Spy get a good look at the gauze basically encasing his arm and the makeshift sling.

and i think he would briefly chide scout for not saying something about it sooner (“you drove a car like that??”), and scout would sass him right back (“i’m better than you at this first aid crap anyways, y’know”), and they’d probably drop it. but i think scout would need to endure a solid week or two of spy insisting on helping him with changing the bandages and not letting him get too much exercise. and i think he would put up with it, because not only is it reasonable, but it makes his dad feel a little better.

so basically, he would probably be stern and act pretty calm, but internally he’s a stressed parent and scout can very much tell.

* * *

> **Anonymous** asked: For the dadspy au I can just see scout stealing a suit and mask hiding it away and then switching into it when the fighting starts. Just red team “ where’s scout? AND WHY DO WE HAVE TWO SPYS!”. Then he switches back when the match is over and no one can figure out how spy did it.

in my brain theater what i’m imagining is the team sitting around and ribbing each other, mostly just standard insults and poking fun, and then someone makes a hard jab at spy (who isn’t in the room) and some of them just start really laying into the guy. just really hammering him. and it’s all in good fun, nobody has actual particularly hard feelings towards spy, but it’s a lot, especially for scout to sit there and listen to. and he just gets really upset by it, by the fact that they’ll sit there and slam spy so hard when he isn’t even there to defend himself, when spy works so goddamn hard.

so he decides to teach them a little lesson or two about respect.

he gets dressed and heads into battle looking like spy, and the whole team is astounded by how on top of his game spy is. he’s practically teleporting from one part of the map to the next, backstabbing almost completely different parts of various chunks of enemies, getting shot down and showing back up again lightning-fast.

i think the best thing would be scout also not telling spy about this bit, just quietly taking the blow to his scores (showing the correct number of kills, but him being way less effective outside of his comfort zone) and agreeing with everyone when they marvel at how insanely good spy did, nodding at the awed mumbles of newfound respect and admiration.

and spy meanwhile has to sit there and wonder what exactly he did to earn all these claps on the back, none the wiser, only a bit confused about the other spy’s choice to try to dress up as him a bit more than usual in the few glances he had of him in the fray.

* * *

> **Anonymous** asked: In the dadspy au how would spy react to the other mercs talking bad about scout? Would he do something similar to what Scout did?

i think he’d start by verbally defending scout, and if they kept on with it he would turn conversation around to make fun of whoever was saying the bad things instead, maybe even going so far as to whip out embarrassing information about their personal life if he felt upset enough. overall he would just make it very clear that he wouldn’t let them badmouth scout in front of him, and would consistently point out all the good things scout did and the contributions he made to the team

* * *

> **Anonymous** asked: I can't stop thinking of a scene with Teen Jeremy absolutely heartbroken by this guy he really liked because he's not returning his calls after they had sex. (maybe they dated more than a few nights and Jeremy thought he was "the one" or something, like teens do), And Spy being there for his son.

he’s just stomping around their hotel room in a bad temper all day. and at first spy thinks it’s because he’s maybe just had a frustrating day, but then he notices that scout is barely eating anything for dinner and hasn’t at lunch either. then scout leaves the hotel room for the third time that evening to “grab something he forgot in the car”, and he looks out the window and watches scout fiddling around at the payphone outside, which he mostly finds weird because scout doesn’t tend to make a lot of phone calls, and almost never without spy knowing about it. that’s when he suspects something is up.

then the next day spy tries to walk them to a small diner they’d been frequenting since they were in town and scout yanks him by the arm and steers him in a completely different direction, saying he was in the mood for some non-diner food. and spy finds that strange enough, because scout would kill for greasy food on any given day of the week, and he tries to piece together why scout wouldn’t want to go to this diner. the only thing he can remember about it is that scout had been flirting with the young man who generally took their order for the previous week, and he’d felt a bit bad, knowing they’d only be there for another week at most.

and halfway through them eating breakfast at a small cafe, scout stops picking at his food to abruptly stand up and say he needs to use the bathroom, and spy quietly tails him out the back door and watches as he attempts to make a phone call again, and then a second time. on the third attempt, he finally just walks up to where he’s using the payphone, leaning against it with a raised eyebrow all “what’s this about?”

and scout looks pissed off as he’s dialing the number, then just upset as he waits for it to finish ringing, then it settles into a kind of distress as he hangs up, and finally spy is left vaguely alarmed when scout just sniffles quietly, scrubbing at his cheek with his hand

and he quietly says he was just trying to call this… guy that he likes. and that the asshole wasn’t picking up the phone. and that he was pretty sure the asshole was just avoiding him. and he was just kind of upset because he and scout had gone out a few times and he thought he was really nice but apparently he was the absolute worst.

spy quietly asks if it’s the boy from the diner. scout nods. he asks if that’s why he doesn’t want to go to the diner. scout nods. he asks if scout really liked this boy.

scout starts crying.

he finds out that scout had been dating for a little while already—mostly short things, a date or two, maybe some kissing, and um (and he glances at spy nervously) um not usually anything more than that (and spy raises his eyebrows at the word ‘usually’) and that he was just excited because he’d finally dated a guy enough times that he didn’t feel weird maybe asking for his number and trying to call him even after he left town, except the number didn’t work and the operator couldn’t help him and he was pretty sure he just… wasn’t interested that much in scout. and it just hurt, was all.

and spy listens to him through the entire thing, and consoles him as best he can, and says that it wasn’t scout’s fault that this boy didn’t know a good thing when he had it, and similar sentiments. and there’s a pause, and spy offhandedly offers to kill him for jeremy, and that makes him laugh, and he goes on with the bit for quite some time about how he’ll totally kill this guy for scout if he wants until he seems at least cheered up enough to eat his breakfast.

and he only sort of thinks about actually killing the boy. just a little bit.

* * *

> **Anonymous** asked: I cant stop thinking of the dadspy au and possibly this time since its everything the opposite of the regular au, this time Sniper is the one head over heels for Scout, visibly interested and being a big goof about it. how would spy feel about this bushman behind his son so utterly and shamelessly interested?

think that sniper is kinda like “woah you’ve been a mercenary and living on the run for essentially your whole life?? that’s. wild, that’s incredible”

and scout is like “oh haha yeah no totally i’m. yeah i’m hot shit or whatever but it’s not like it’s a big deal…… it’s whatever”

and sniper is just like really all abt this interesting and lively guy and scout is not used to someone thinking he’s cool (and especially someone roughly his age roughly as good at their job as him) and he’s getting just more and more flustered about it and spy is just like “no. no. you could do better. this isn’t the well-dressed and intelligent man you should be dating” and scout’s like “but…… he’s nice and he thinks i’m cool”

* * *

> **Anonymous** asked: Sniper and Scout going on missions together, catch me thinking of Mr and Mrs Smith type of sequence being the power couple of the century. Maybe after a mission they nail together impressively, they just look at each other and kiss desperately, and that is a wrap, ladies and gents, Jeremy has a boyfriend.

scout brings the quick thinking and sniper brings the sharpshooting and it’s a straight up action film chase scene and then finally they’re out of there and like the building goes up in flames behind them and they’re just standing there sweaty and bloody and out of breath, and sniper looks at scout and calls him an absolute fucking maniac, and scout looks at sniper and says thanks, and there’s a pause, and scout just yanks him down by the collar of his shirt and kisses him directly all the way on the mouth and the only thing going through sniper’s head is “FINALLY”

now they just need to keep it a secret from the international agent of espionage who just so happens to be scout’s dad who loves him very much

* * *

> **Anonymous** asked: Ohhhhhh protective dad spy is a must. I can just imagine the shenanigans. Like Dracula from hotel Transylvania!!!

it isn’t even in a “i don’t trust your judgement or think you can take care of yourself” way to be honest, he would be just as upset and shitty about it if they were just like Best Friends, it’s literally just that spy the individual personally doesn’t like sniper and needs everyone to know that

* * *

> **Anonymous** asked: Spydad au where Scout gets really hurt or sick and Sniper and Spy have to work together to help

sniper is the one who understands what to do in case of a snake bite and spy is the one who speaks fluent enough spanish to interact with the people at the hospital and sniper knows that scout likes eating candy and junk food to cheer up and spy knows he has a fear of hospitals and will very much need the emotional support

they both care abt scout a lot and have very different sets of knowledge and skills and where they overlap is where they do the best work and they realize they could potentially get along and work together however spy is a fancy-pants cityboy type and sniper is an uncivilized uncultured australian so simply they’re doomed to fail

but they don’t kill each other over the period of time that scout is in the hospital which he counts as a win, personally

* * *

> **Anonymous** asked: I picture Sniper and Scout having little inside jokes in the Dad!Spy AU, they can be seen chuckling from time to time while talking in a low voice right next to each other, and Spy might hate Sniper's guts, but he has to admit, this man can make his son laugh and look unashamedly happy.

he just hears his son laughing really loudly and he looks up, astonished, because jeremy hasn’t laughed like that in years, what’s going on? and he sees sniper elbowing him, shaking his head and looking flustered, and his son laughing, and sniper says something and he laughs again, and it hits spy that this is the first time his son has looked so relaxed around someone besides him. and it’s a weirdly satisfying thought to have, the idea of his son being so happy.

* * *

> **Anonymous** asked: Dad!Spy hc: Its Spy's birthday and little Jeremy tries to make/get something for his dad without him knowing which is hard since its literally one of the things his dad does but Spy is a good sport about it.

he does a similar thing for father’s day as well, just forcibly declaring entire parts of a room TOTALLY COMPLETELY OFF LIMITS, NO DADS ALLOWED (sometimes with little paper signs with similar sentiments littering the place). by the time he’s eight, he’s reached making blanket forts to hide his gift-making attempts. by the time he’s ten he’s bold enough to buy things at a store (usually requiring spy to turn around for lengths of time and him hiding things under his jacket), and by the time he’s fourteen spy doesn’t actually know for sure what the gift is. the first time he truly surprises spy is through a five-layer ruse that he spent three months planning and two executing, when he’s seventeen years old. spy was extremely proud, and also liked the gift a whole lot. it was a very nice shaving razor.

* * *

> **Anonymous** asked: the fact that scout was mimicking accents he saw on tv is so funny to me,, like spy coming home from work and seeing little jeremy in front of the tv trying his hardest to copy this accent that he swears sounds just like his mothers but worse

he’s just eating takeout with his son and idly talking about how he writes so many things down so he doesn’t forget about them and jeremy just gets a big smile and goes “FUHGET ABOUT IT! EY TONY—“ in this weird fucked up blend of east coast accents and spy watches him doing this bit for about ten seconds before he decides it’s funny and it’s not like the accent will stick or anything anyways so he might as well keep that ball rolling

unfortunately for him it absolutely did and now he’s tormented on the daily by the a Weird Incorrect Boston Accent

* * *

> **Anonymous** asked: jkfhdkjsfh cant stop laughing at the idea of spy having tons of photos of his son using those formal kid outfits or fashionable upper class kid clothing and tiny berets

kid for sure grew up in little button-up shirts and colorful shorts, although i think spy would only put a tiny beret on him for the sake of the cute picture and only until scout is about three. even when scout is a bit older and starting to wear baseball caps and stuff i think spy would always make sure his shirts were clean and unwrinkled and would stress the importance of taking care of his clothes, and would probably downgrade to sweaters from the polo shirts.

* * *

> **Anonymous** asked: ever since I learned abt ur father and son bonding au I’ve been curious abt how their canon selves would react to seeing their relatively stable versions from the universe where Spy actually embraced fatherhood and actually allowed himself to mature

i think the canon versions of them would be super super mad, because look at those douchebags with a sense of familial comradarie and comfort with each other and emotional maturity, what assholes, fuck those guys. it’s mostly because they’re jealous

and the AU versions would just look at the canon versions and be so, so sad, for a lot of reasons. AU!scout would be sad because this version of him is just so much more… straightforward. he had brothers, and a mom, and grew up playing baseball with a ragtag group of guys to show him everything cool about the rough side of town but also a house to go home to and a door to leave his shoes next to. and he’d also be sad seeing what spy would be like if he never sort of… grew up, almost. if he genuinely tried to go it alone. how clearly lonely and sad and emotionally unavailable he would’ve ended up. and AU!spy would be sad because he hates seeing how bad he could’ve turned out, what an asshole he might’ve ended up as if he didn’t have someone else to look out for during the worse times. and more than that, he would feel sad, maybe even guilty, seeing how badly bruised canon scout ended up over his dad leaving and his rough-and-tumble upbringing. i really wouldn’t put it past him to try to talk it out with canon scout, to essentially make the choice to bring him along for the ride a second time. and for that matter, i think AU!scout might even end up lecturing the shit out of canon spy for acting like a distant, bitter jerk all the time. and i won’t try to claim that one version of the two of them is better than the other—they ended up with different but both very big issues—but i think the AU versions would lean in to trying to address the ones the canon versions have before starting in on most of their own. something something emotional distance

* * *

> **Anonymous** asked: Dad!Spy in the father-son bonding AU is obviously much more stable than canon Spy, and much more emotionally mature. What sort of stuff do you think Spy really had to grapple with and work on that made him so different than canon Spy when it comes to how he handles Scout (or other personal affairs)? He obviously had his attitude changed fundementally through the often humbling experience of raising a child, but what are the the things that seperate that Spy from our canon, so-scared-of-rejection-he-pretended-to-be-Tom-Jones Spy?

i think the big one is just the experience of like, the come-to-Jesus moment of realizing that he couldn’t turn back anymore, he no longer had the option of messing up in a major way or taking breaks or giving up. the realization that for better or for worse, it was his responsibility to make sure that his son turned out okay. and i think it took him a few months into having Jeremy with him to realize it, to have that epiphany that he was the most important person to this child, that he was the only one around to help him and make sure he was happy and healthy, but i think his lifestyle changes started very very swiftly once he had that realization.

i think on a more recordable level, he stopped smoking nearly as much as before (only using it to mitigate pain or more extreme stress rather than the half a pack a day he’d been smoking previously). i think he probably stopped drinking altogether when he could help it, limiting himself to at most one glass of wine when he went to events but even then trying to avoid it. i think he worked hard on doing his research, worked hard to really think through as many of his own issues as he could around the time that little baby Jeremy repeated a phrase back to him that he overheard from a phone call that sounded so much more ugly and cruel when spoken by a four-year-old. he had the abrupt understanding that he was ultimately the one in control of whether his son understood kindness and empathy and love, and he understood how hard life was going to be for the both of them, and he knew he couldn’t afford to slack off.

on an emotional level, something about having that contrast, that different mental and emotional space to occupy, really helped save him in a lot of different ways. i think that going back to his motel rooms and being greeted by a very, very excited six-year-old who simply couldn’t wait to show him the drawing he made, or how far he made it into his practice reading books, or just that he missed him and loved him so very much, i think that made him a very fundamentally different person from the man in the universe where there was nobody in that motel, and would never be anybody in that motel waiting for him, not really, just his own thoughts and nothing to distract him from the memory of his pain and his failures. in one universe, the rest between missions was used to sulk and wallow and grow angrier and sadder and to get more and more swallowed up in himself, but in this one it’s rest used to do a different kind of work, a kind that involves both distraction and relief from the worst parts of himself and the knowledge that surely he can’t be all that bad if his son spent the last hour painstakingly rendering him in green and blue crayon and worked extra extra hard to spell his name correctly (not that he managed to, not quite having figured out the difference between D and B quite yet, but he worked hard nonetheless).

i think the biggest difference is that in the father-son bonding AU, spy got very well acquainted with the idea of admitting when he was wrong, because there was always someone to hold him accountable. by the time Jeremy is old enough to really call him out on things, he’s gotten very good at saying, no, you’re right, i made a mistake. you did ask that i get cheese pizza and not pepperoni tonight, and i forgot, and i’m sorry. i did mean to order you chocolate milk rather than regular, and i made a mistake, and i’m sorry. i did forget to tuck you in and say goodnight the way i always do, and that is my bad, and i’m sorry, and i’ll do that right this instant as an apology and i’ll try my best to not forget again.

admitting he made mistakes made him a better and more humble and self-aware person. in the canon AU, admitting that he did something wrong would only ever be relevant to him, and even then it would eat away at him until he spiraled into doubts and paranoia, and so he worked hard not to ever admit he made mistakes, holding himself to an extremely high standard and then falsifying it when absolutely necessary.

i think those are the biggest differences

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[last updated February 15th, 2021]


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